Backrooms 3: Kiosk Kingdom - Chapter 31 - 33

Okay, I've got three more chapters coming at you. Also, I finally did some spreadsheet updates, Nilbog. You are 100% right, I accidentally applied the boost that should've gone to Toughness to Grit instead. I've already gone back and updated her sheet with the corrected values--good eye and good catch.

Chapter Thirty-One – Let’s Make a Deal

With Krampus dead, whatever magic had previously animated his Yule Tide Sack of Horrors was gone now. No more Elves crawled from the bag’s endless cloth maw and the rest of the Jultomten had turned into puddles of viscous goo. Other than the rasp of our labored breathing, the Christmas kiosk was eerily silent.

At least until Nikoli started laughing, a deep belly rumble that rolled over the snow and echoed off the trees.

“Is easy to see why the Flayed Monarch fears you,” he said, surveying the battlefield.

Over half of my Horrors were dead, but the others were all on their feet along with the rest of my team. Though Croc was nowhere to be seen, which I counted as a good thing.

“You have my respect,” Nikoli said, dipping his head in a slight bow of acknowledgement. “And as a show of thanks, you can keep whatever Relics and Artifacts Krampus has. Is only right.” Then he grinned. “Besides, now that I have Soul Forge back, I can make whatever I need.”

The way he said it sent a shiver racing along my spine.

But I held my tongue—at least for now.

Also, I wasn’t one to overlook free loot, so I dropped down beside Krampus’s corpse and accessed his Spatial Core, quickly sifting through the Relics before adding them to storage. He had four in total, all Rare Grade, all powerful.

The first was a Stamina-based charge skill called Cloven Rush that I was certain would synergize with Jakob’s newly upgraded Bullrush Blitz. The second was an elemental attack called Minty Fresh Breath, which unleashed a billowing cloud of artic ice, that dealt frost damage, drastically slowed enemies, and came with a 25% chance of freezing them on the spot. Both fairly straight forward in the grand scheme of things. The last two were the most intriguing by a mile, however, and seemed to be designed to work together in tandem.

The first was called Naughty List.

Rare Relic – Level 1

Range: 20 meters

Cost: 30 Mana

Duration: Passive Aura

You better watch out, you better not lie, you better not pout, I’m telling you why—because the cruel gods of Yule are always watching and they know exactly what you did last summer. Or during that one company retreat in Reno. Or every time cheated on your diet, because your sense of self-control is about as strong as Porta-John two-ply.

Naughty List is a passive aura that only affects enemies with unresolved guilt, buried secrets, or deep-seated shame they’d rather not confront. As long as they remain within range, the spell applies stacks Sinful Mark—tiny metaphysical tally marks scored across their spiritual ledger. Each stack makes them 10% more vulnerable to psychic attacks, mental compulsion, and fear-based magic. Once five stacks accumulate, they become prime targets for a little holiday reckoning.

This Relic enables Mana Usage.

On its own, all the spell really did was lower physic resistance, but when paired with Chains of Christmas Past, it became a powerhouse, one-two knock out combo.

Rare Relic – Level 1

Range: 25 meters

Cost: 50 Mana

Duration: 1 minute

Cooldown:2 minutes

They say you can’t outrun the past, and that’s especially true when it’s dragging you down with iron links forged from your own miserable memories.

Chains of Christmas Past can target any enemy, but when cast on someone burdened with five stacks of Sinful Mark, the spell reveals its full, horrifying potential. The chains ensnare the target, binding them in place, and then the real torment begins.

The victim is forced to relive their worst, most shameful memory in a torturous mental loop—every second of the experience rendered in high-def emotional clarity. A torturous prison of their own making. While trapped, targets are incapacitated, unable to move or act, consumed by regret, fear, and mental anguish. Most break down. A few scream. None forget. The terrible, crushing weight of the past remains well after the effects of the spell finally fade.

This Relic Enables Mana Usage.

This had to be what Krampus had used against me.

It was like Existential Dread but worse because it didn’t just freeze you, it dredged up the personal, lingering traumas and amplified them a thousand-fold. Although Relics weren’t inherently evil, this one came pretty damned close.

Even holding it made me feel gross on the inside. It was powerful, though. Certainly powerful enough to hang onto—though I wouldn’t be putting it up for sale anytime soon.

There were also two Artifacts.

The Sack of Jultomten was Fabled-grade, though it only had a single effect: it could summon one Yule Elf per level of the caster. Unfortunately, it was an attuned Artifact—something I hadn’t seen before—and it was soul-bound to Krampus, who was now very, very dead. Still, I tossed it into storage for later. Maybe there was something I could salvage from it.

The second item was Krampus’s Heartfire Lash—the infamous cat-o’-nine-tails wreathed in spectral fire—which came with two particularly nasty effects that could trigger on contact.

Phantom Pain had a 20% chance to procc, leaving behind searing psychic damage that lingered even after the physical wounds were healed. The second effect, Soulcinder, had a 75% chance to trigger when the lash’s victim died, making their body erupt in ghostly fire that torched anything nearby.

It wasn’t really my style, but it felt like something Harper could do terrifying things with.

With the Relics and Artifacts taken care of, I tagged what was left of Krampus’s corpse and automatically sent it back to the store using Conveyor Logistics so I could process it for parts later. I’d lost a lot of Horrors during this raid, and I’d need to replenish my forces before facing off against the Franchisor in earnest.

And speaking of my Horrors, with the threat gone for the time being, I banished all of them back to storage for later. There was no point in keeping them around and I doubted Nikoli would be included to let us into the forge if I brought an entire army with me.

 “Now that kiosk is cleared,” Nikoli asked as I stood and brushed my snow-covered hand against my bathrobe, “will you and your friends move on? Otdokhnem na tom svete, as my people say. I believe you American’s have similar saying. There is no rest for the wicked. Still, if you have time, we could head back to Kringlegard and celebrate properly.” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “I will make sure you have enough Vodka to forget even the Flayed Monarch for a little while.”

“I appreciate the offer,” I said, giving him a false smile, “but we spent too long here already, and we still have two more floors to clear before I can curb stomp the Franchisor.” I paused as though thinking, though I already knew exactly what I was going to ask next. “But before we go, I suppose we have a time for a quick tour of your Soul Forge. Just a peek,” I said, keeping my tone light. “You made it sound like something out of a legend, and I’d love to see the magic for myself.”

Nikoli’s grin faltered. “Apologies, but it’s… private.”

I didn’t blink and let the smile slip from my face. “So is my browser history,” I replied. “But if you want a partnership, I’m gonna need to see how the sausage is made.”

There was a long pause and tension built in the air between us like a mounting storm front.

“Some things, once seen, cannot be unseen,” he replied cryptically. “Maybe is best if you just enjoy sausages.”

“I’ve already seen enough to know that looking away is never a good idea,” I said flatly. “So I’ll have to insist. I’ve learned that when building an alliance, transparency is key. How’s about this, you show me yours”—I raised a hand and summoned one of my Doorway Sentinels—“and I’ll show you mine. Seems like a fair trade?”

With a slow nod, he turned. “Very well,” he said over one shoulder. “I will show you.” He paused and something dark flashed in his eyes. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

Without another word, he trudged over to his sword and pulled it from the ground, then set off at a brisk pace across the slush and churned snow toward the soul forge.

I waved for the others to follow, and we fell into line behind the burly man.

“Dan,” Jakob asked, leaning forward to whisper into my ear. “Where is Croc?”

I shot him and the others a warning glance. “Corpse patrol,” I said loudly enough for Nikoli to hear. “Croc’ll be fine. We’ll meet back up after we get a tour. Hopefully, it shouldn’t take too long.”

The others looked confused by my answer, but didn’t ask any follow up questions—something I was deeply grateful for.

Walking in a single file line, we trudged across the narrow bridge that carved between trenches and razor-toped berms, our boots crunching in the snow. Before long, we stood in front of an enormous set of iron doors, covered in sigils and slick with frost. Nikoli jammed his scar-covered hand against a palm reader and the doors hissed open.

We followed Nikoli into a vast chamber, carved from stone and reinforced with iron beams, the interior lit with golden ambient glow from runes etched into every surface. Along the walls were shelving units stacked high with Relics, Artifacts, alchemic ingredients, and fabrication components—all sorted by rarity and type.

A huge forge for smelting iron and shaping metal took up a good chunk of one wall and Nikoli had countless wood-toped workstations and dozens of runscribed fabrication tables, humming with dormant energy. I spotted a fully furnished alchemical lab that was easily as large as the entirety of the store’s pharmacy, complete with stainless steel tables and more modern lab equipment. Beakers and flasks, metal racks with scores of test tubes, centrifuges, Bunsen burners, and bulky microscopes.

I could practically see Jakob’s mouth water at the find.

But the wonder quickly curdled in my stomach the second I saw the workers.

Twenty in total.

The Delvers moved in jerky, mechanical unison—each of them gaunt, hollow-cheeked, and pale from lack of sunlight. Their eyes were vacant, their skin stretched tight over skeletal frames. I noticed that many were missing fingers or ears, and a few were even missing an eye. Some were literal children. They looked like POWs stuck in a labor camp and around each of their necks were spiked collar biting into raw, chafed flesh.

Those collars looked identical to the ones I’d seen on Nikoli’s Grippledips—but sized down to human proportions.

None of them spoke. But their eyes screamed. Pleaded for help. For relief.

“What the hell is all this?” I asked, my voice low and dangerous.

Nikoli beamed like a proud father. “My Soul Forge,” he said, his chest puffing up. “And these”—he swept his arms wide—“are my workers! The true heart of my operation. As you have seen firsthand, crafting Relics is time-consuming and expensive. Artifacts even more so, because they consume memories. But, with proper workforce, I can maintain output. Enough to supply all of Kringlegard. Efficient, no?”

My good hand clenched into a fist.

“Crafting enough to supply this store of yours could prove to be challenge,” Nikoli continued, rubbing at his beard thoughtfully, “but I’m sure you have a few dissidents that you could donate to the cause, da?”

I immediately thought of Jackson and hated myself for doing it. He was a piece of shit, but not even Jackson deserved this.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “This is royally fucked.”

Nikoli frowned, his brow furrowing.

“Come now,” he said. “Surely you of all people must see the necessity? Power comes at a price. It is way of things. The Backrooms are not for the weak. We do what we must to survive. You see this. You and I—we are kindred spirits. Survivors. Builders. Forging great things, even though it is costly. I have heard about this store of yours. I do not have Golems to do my bidding, so I make do with what I have. Is common sense.” He paused and canted his head thoughtfully to one side. “What is it you Americans say? Must break eggs to make omelet?”

He stepped closer, voice lowering like a co-conspirator. “Is unpleasant reality. But such sacrifices must be made for the good of all. The people of Kringlegard have full bellies. Warm shelter. All they could ever need to survive. This”—he gestured at the slaves—“is small price to pay to keep order. And just imagine the good we could do together. Your shop, your spark, my forge—we could shake the very foundations of the Backrooms. Form an alliance that even Monarchs would fear.” He extended a hand. “What do you say? Shall we be partners?”

For a second—just a second—I actually considered it. The tools here, the raw materials, Nikoli’s experience. He wasn’t wrong. Between the two of us, I might actually stand a chance against someone like the Flayed Monarch, especially if he was at war with the other Sovereigns and I managed to cut his logistical legs out from underneath him by securing the Kiosk Network.

The Relics I could craft with the Forge would make me unstoppable.

And all it would cost me was all the human decency I had left.

I slapped his outstretched hand away, not bothering to mask the disgust I felt.

“I’ve got a better deal,” I growled. “Let them go. All of them. Return them to their families. Then run—and make sure I never see your face again.”

Nikoli’s smile faded.

“I do not understand problem,” he said, sounding genuinely confused. “You are great capitalist, like me. You have already seen that commerce is the ultimate weapon. And you are American. You should understand this. What I do is no different than what your country has done for decades. You buy ten-dollar shirts at Walmart. Cheap iPhones built overseas. Why do you think these things are so affordable? In Shenzhen, they have suicide nets to keep workers from leaping to their deaths. Is ugly, true. But this is how business works.”

He shrugged, completely unfazed.

“And it is little better in your own country,” he continued. “The poor barely scrape by—just enough for food and rent. When you must toil away to survive, you are a slave just as much as these poor creatures in my Forge. Freedom is illusion. Your corporate masters give you just enough to feel comfortable. Force-feed you mindless entertainment so you do not see the collars, but they are there all the same. The only way to break free is to get others to do the work for you. That is what I have done. What you have done.”

I mulled over his words and didn’t speak for a moment.

Maybe he was telling the truth. But this wasn’t America—this was the Backrooms. Out there, in the real world, I was a nobody. A disabled vet and a contractor. I didn’t have the power to influence international trade policies or change corporate payout structures, even if they were fucked up. But this?

I had the power to stop this.

“No,” I growled.

“Be reasonable,” Nikoli said, the words laced with clear threat.

“He already is,” Harper replied, stepping up beside me, “by giving you a chance to walk away. That’s better than you deserve.”

“I agree,” Temperance added, positioning herself on my other side. “Personally, I don’t think you deserve a chance to live. If it were up to me, I’d cut your limbs off one by one, turn them into ground meat, then feed them to you raw.”

“That is a little much,” Jakob said.

“So you think we should just let this monster walk then?” Temperance asked.

“What?” Jakob said, surprised. “No, not at all. But feeding him his own ground up limbs is a little morally gray, don’t you think, Kleiner Hase?”

Nikoli sighed. “I was afraid you might say this.” Then he shrugged. “We could have done great things, you and I, but I knew this was possibility. By now,” he continued, “you must realize—walking away is not an option. Thankfully, you will all make fine editions to workforce.” He pulled his sword from the scabbard at his belt. “Now, do we do this easy way or the Russian way?”

“Yeah, I thought you might say that,” I replied. “Which is why I had Croc replace your sword.”

Nikoli’s eyes widened in shock as he glanced at the blade clutched in his hand.

“Croc, now!” I bellowed.

The sword swelled, huge teeth forming as the hilt of the sword snaked down over Nikoli’s fist and clamped down with a crunch. Everything below Nikoli’s elbow vanished in a spray of red as the mimic blade clattered to the ground and sprouted legs.

Nikoli screamed, clutching his stump against his chest as he retreated for the far wall.

“Sorry, but we don’t make friends with people who enslave other people,” Croc said as the mimic swelled in size, then gulped, swallowing Nikoli’s arm with a disgusting slurp.

“Couldn’t agree more,” I growled, before barking the activation command for the Balloon Menagerie Spell Cards I’d slipped into Nikoli’s belt during our battle against Krampus.

I dropped the Super Slammer of Shielding and shouted “Let’s Pog!” as a hoard of squeaky, brightly colored balloon animals billowed up and promptly exploded…

Chapter Thirty-Two – Hostile Takeover

A wall of rolling flames engulfed Nikoli and billowed outward, buffeting against the golden bars of the arcane dome of protection. The slammer worked so well, I didn’t even feel the heat on my face. Still, I squinted and shielded my eyes from the blinding flare.

After a few seconds, the blaze died down.

Somehow, Nikoli was still swaying on his feet, though his beard was gone, his face was a ruined mess of burns, and one of his arms was still missing—though the stump had been cauterized in the blast. Now it was a stub of char-blackened skin. His health bar floated above him, painfully low, but he was still hanging on for dear life.

I bent over and picked up the POG, banishing the dome, but in the same instant, Nikoli lurched backward, slamming his fist against a nearby brass wall panel.

In an instant, everything changed.

Red lights strobed overhead and klaxons blared a warning as runes blazed to life along the walls, the floor, the ceiling—emitting a pulse of overwhelming pressure that hammered into my chest.

I’d felt something like this before, back in the Jungle Gym Jamboree Arcade. A Runic Suppression Field. My mana dropped like a stone, though I could still feel a gentle ebb of power inside my core. I raised a hand to fire off a Hydro Fracking Blast, but only a limp trickle of water burst from my palm.

Barely more than I’d get from a garden hose, and certainly not strong enough to punch through flesh, much less armor.

A notification appeared, confirming my suspicion.

You have entered a Partial Mana Suppression Field. Relics requiring Mana will operate at 10% efficiency while inside this zone. Your functional Mana Pool is reduced by 90% while inside this zone.

“Stop him!” I yelled.

But Nikoli was already moving.

Despite his abysmally low health, Nikoli sprinted toward the back of the forge and leapt onto a boxy copper platform, etched with a dizzying array of runes. The second his feet made contact, the sigils flared to life and a hiss of steam erupted beneath him, accompanied by the thunderous clang of whirling gears. The platform cracked open, and half a dozen mechanical articulating arms erupted around him.

More steam hissed from hidden valves as the mechanized limbs moved with terrifying speed and precision. Steel plated boots, riveted with copper, clamped onto his feet, followed by twin columns of overlapping steel plates and leather which locked over his shins and thighs, hydraulic pistons instantly adjusting.

A bulky chestplate descended from above, suspended by thick chains, and slid into place with the precision of a clockmaker’s hands. Nikoli didn’t even flinch as the backplate folded in behind him, enveloping his spine in a lattice of metal, tubes, canisters, and pressure gauges. Massive shoulder pauldrons followed, clicking into place. A hiss of air erupted and the gauntlets shot forward from either side—though now he was down one hand.

Gears whirled and clanked as the final piece, the helmet, lowered over his head.

In total, it took only a matter of seconds before a juggernaut of steel loomed before us, like steampunk Ironman out of a medieval folktale.

Nikoli’s eyes burned with fury behind in faceplate, and I knew that we’d fucked up.

“Oh fiddlesticks,” Croc muttered from beside me, now the size of a bear. “This isn’t going to be good…”

Then, as impossible as it was to believe, things got worse.

“Comrades, to arms!” Nikoli bellowed, his voice oddly robotic and amplified by the suit. “Bring me their heads!”

Around us, the enslaved Delvers stopped. Turned. Moved.

Their collars flashed red as they surged forward in eerie synchronization, tools raised as weapons, their eyes hollow with despair. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Delvers didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to hurt us. I also knew they would, because they couldn’t stop themselves—not with Nikoli’s spiked control collars fastened in place.

The Delvers shambled toward us while Nikoli lumbered into motion, leaping from the copper dais and landing with enough force to rattle the floor and knock tools from the walls.

My mind raced, running through a dozen different scenarios in my head, one right after another. We were stuck, we were surrounded and outnumbered, my magic wasn’t working properly, and we had a roomful of hostiles that we couldn’t kill.

Not in good conscience.

If we had any hope of walking away from this, there were several things that needed to happen—and they needed to happen fast.

“Jakob,” I yelled, “I need you to run interference. Keep Nikoli busy for as long as you can.” He would be least affected by the Mana Suppression Field, and I knew that if anyone had a chance of going toe-to-toe with Nikoli in that armored behemoth, it was our own shield-wielding tank. “Harper and Temp,” I thundered, “you’re on crowd control. Try to lock ’em down, but don’t kill them. Not if there’s any other way. Croc, guard my six. I’m going to see if I can’t disarm the suppression field.”

The others broke without question, darting off in different directions.

Jakob sprinted across the floor, boots pounding against stone, both shields already up and at the ready. Instead of slowing, he activated his newest charge ability, Bullrush Blitz, and a nimbus of burning red light erupted around him. Nikoli lashed out with a fist as Jakob closed in, but the heavy iron gauntlet clanged against the Cendral’s kite shield and didn’t slow him even for a moment.

Jakob slammed into Nikoli and sent the steampunk mech stumbling back a few paces, though it didn’t drop his life bar any further.

Meanwhile, Temp and Harper were doing their best to keep the enslaved Delvers off me.

Unfortunately, with the suppression field in place, Temp didn’t have access to her single best crowd control ability, Puritanical Chains, and since we didn’t want to kill anyone needlessly, she left the cleaver at her belt and resorted to using her fists. The only silver lining—if there was one—was that the Suppression Field seemed to be affecting the thralls as well, so they came at her with tools instead of spells.

Temp was small, but she was strong, agile, and in far better physical condition than any of the malnourished workers. She beat them mercilessly, leaving a trail of black eyes, missing teeth and broken bones in her wake. I winced at the sheer devastation, but it was better than death and nothing Harper’s Field Surgeon Spell couldn’t fix—assuming I could take down the suppression field and get our powers back online.

“Follow me,” I shouted at Croc, as I sprinted toward the copper panel Nikoli had used to activate the field. I figured if that plate was the on switch, it was probably the off switch as well.

I skidded to a stop in front of the copper panel, as Jakob traded blows with the iron juggernaut, and quickly went to work. The panel was bolted tight against the wall with a series of hex nuts, all rusted into place and sunk deep into reinforced steel brackets. I yanked my wrench free from my toolbelt, hastily adjusted the clamp size, then gave the first bolt a good twist.

My arm shook from the strain, but the bolt didn’t budge so much as a millimeter. Whoever had put these bad boys on, didn’t intend for them to come off. Ever.

But I wasn’t a quitter.

I grit my teeth, leaned my weight into it, and tried again. Still, not even a wiggle. Superhuman strength or not, these bastards weren’t giving. I moved down the line—second bolt, third, fourth.

Still no luck.

But the fifth, securing down the bottom left corner, finally gave me something to work with—a squeal of stressed metal and the faintest glimmer of movement. I wriggled the wrench back and forth, trying to loosen up the threads. With two hands, I was sure I could’ve managed. With one, I just didn’t have the leverage. But I did have something else. My mind. The Suppression Field, dampened magical effects, but it didn’t eliminate them completely, and Psychic Sovereignty took almost no mana to use.

Still pressing with my good hand, I applied additional force using a thread of mental power, and finally the bolt gave with a satisfying clink. I spun the wrench with practiced ease, then finally pulled the first bolt away. I still doubted I’d be able to loosen the other bolts, but now there was a thin gap between the metal plate and the wall beneath. I swapped my wrench for the demolition screwdriver, then jammed it forcefully into the thin opening I’d just created.

With a grunt, I managed to pry up the edge of the panel.

Behind me, Croc was in full horrorshow mode. Belly-maw. Giant teeth. Too many limbs.

The whole nine yards.

A pair of slick, veiny tentacles unfurled from the mimic’s gaping stomach mouth and lashed out at several workers, who’d managed to slip around Temp and Harper. Croc hoisted three into the air like limp action figures and whipped them backward into the nearest wall.

“Hate to rush you, Dan,” Croc called, voice steady despite the chaos, “but you might want to pick up the pace. They’re bringing friends.”

“Working on it,” I growled.

The panel wasn’t coming free with brute force alone, but now that I had a gap, I had options. I cupped my hand and activated Hydro Fracking Blast. A pitiful sputter of water gurgled to life—a sad, barely-there stream compared to what I was used to.

But that was fine. I didn’t need force. I needed finesse.

Activating Hydrokensis, I guided the thread of water and it slipped through the seam like liquid wire. I wouldn’t be flash freezing anyone, but I could still manipulate the small amount of moisture inside the panel. I focused my thoughts, tuning out the frantic battle, and began to cycle. With a thought, I heated the water up until it expanded into a cloud of steam. Then, once the water molecules had spread, I sucked the heat out and froze it. The metal groaned under the sudden temperature change, warping just a little.

I cycled again.

Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.

The metal squealed, flexed, then finally popped.

The bolts began to snap free, loosening just enough for me to go back in with the wrench. This time, they twisted. I ripped them loose, one after another, then yanked off the cover, and tossed it to the floor. Suddenly, I found myself staring at a dense, claustrophobic nest of wires, gears, and pulsing sigils. As good as I was getting at rune craft, this was clearly the work of a master sigil smith.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath as I studied the configuration, beads of sweat rolling down my face.

I didn’t understand half of what I was looking at.

Maybe in another year or two I’d be able to make something like this, but life as a contractor had taught me in no uncertain terms that you didn’t have to be able to make something to break it. It took a master carpenter years of practice and months of work to properly fabricate a radius cabinet and a sixteen year old with a sledgehammer about two minutes to knock it down.

Most of the runes were so intricate and complex that I couldn’t even tell what they did, but I recognized one rune straight away. A mana capacitor. All Sigil Stones used a variation of that rune to power their magical effects without the need for a secondary input source—like a caster. In essence, they were arcane batteries. If I could disrupt the power output, everything else would come tumbling down like a Jenga tower.

That was the weak point I could exploit.

I pulled my engraver’s awl from my belt, braced my wrist, and went to work. Three precise strokes, each one slicing through part of the inscription, broke the energy flow.

I didn’t even get to finish the fourth.

The entire panel erupted in a burst of blue-white light and concussive force. It felt like getting mule-kicked by a lightning bolt. In the blink of an eye, I was airborne. The explosion hurled me backward and I slammed into a fabrication table, flipping ass over teakettle before finally landing on the floor with a wheeze. Pain blossomed behind my eyes, and for a second I couldn’t move.

Instead, I just lay there gasping, my vision flickering at the edges.

Holy fuck that hurt.

But then the suppression field dropped.

I felt it immediately—like a fever breaking. Mana rushed back into my core in a flood of heat and pressure and glorious life. I hadn’t realized how much I relied on it until it was gone. The suppression field hadn’t just weakened me, it had left me numb. Like losing a sense I didn’t even realize I’d had. Suddenly blind. Suddenly deaf. Suddenly vulnerable.

But now that new sense was back in high-def clarity.

In the distance, I heard Harper laugh—sharp, relieved, a little unhinged. “Oh thank god.”

I groaned and rolled onto my stomach.

“Alright,” I muttered, spitting blood across the floor. “Time for round two, motherfucker.”

Chapter Thirty-Three – Round Two

I gained my feet and activated a Health Regen Spell Card, bringing my HP bar almost back to full as the pain receded and finally faded completely.

It was time to take Nikoli down for good, and Jakob couldn’t do that alone. The Cendral was currently holding the line against Nikoli’s mech, but he wasn’t dealing any damage. Nikoli was busy wailing on Jakob’s twin shields, knocking him across the floor like an MMA training dummy. It was all Jakob could do to avoid being turned into meat paste and I wasn’t sure how much longer he would last.

Jakob tried to retreat a step, but Nikoli raised a metallic hand and hastily scrawled a sigil in the air, his finger leaving a trail of arcane sparks in its wake. As he finished the runic pattern, it flared to life and a semi-translucent wall of light formed behind the retreating Cendral. Suddenly, Jakob was trapped, with nowhere else to go, while Nikoli advanced.

“Could use some help here!” Jakob bellowed.

Unfortunately, we now had another issue to handle.

With the suppression field down, we had access to our magic again, but so did Nikoli’s army of enslaved thralls.

The air was suddenly thick with spellfire and screaming. A storm of magic ripped through the forge—columns of flame, lances of ice, sizzling blobs of acid that splattered against tables and walls. Temp and Harper were doing an admiral job of ducking and dodging the fast-flying spells, but we needed to lock the thralls down or we were gonna drown in a sea of crossfire.

Doing that without killing them was a headache all on its own.

They weren’t particular fast or well armored. Most weren’t even all that high-leveled, and none were above 35. With one round of StainSlayer Maelstrom and a couple blasts of Hydro Fracking Blast, and I could’ve slaughtered the whole lot of ’em without breaking a sweat.

But these were the people we’d come to save.

“Shit,” I muttered, ducking behind a table as what appeared to be a colorful, paper mâché lama piñata flew toward me. I managed to avoid it, but then it exploded against the wall in a powerful spray of candy, studded with razor blades. One of the razors nicked my cheek, just beneath the eye.

God, but I fucking hated this place sometimes.

Though, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in an exploding, razor-blade piñata.

I glanced over the edge of the table and saw that Temp was trying to restrain the thralls with her Puritanical Chains. They were perfect for the job, but single target only. She needed something with more reach, and seeing the spectral chains in action gave me an idea—though I already felt guilty about it.

“Harper!” I shouted, already pulling free two of the Relics I’d acquired from Krampus, Naughty List and Chains of Christmas Past. Much as it disgusted me, these were the best tools for the job. I didn’t relish the idea of forcing enslaved thralls to relive their worst, most horrifying experience, but it was that or dying.

Somehow, this was the lesser of two evils.

Problem was, the Relics required a fair degree of concentration, and if we were going to beat Nikoli I needed to be in the fight. Which meant someone else was going to have to do the dirty work.

“Use these!” I hurled the two Relics at the winged healer and she darted over, snatching them from the air with nimble hands.

Harper didn’t hesitate. Didn’t even pause before swapping in the Relics and activating the aura. Naughty List pulsed outward like a ripple through water, coating the air with a shimmer that only those burdened by guilt could feel. The thralls shuddered in unison, their eyes going glassy. One by one, barely visible marks bloomed on their bodies—Sinful Marks—growing stronger with every moment the aura persisted.

Harper thrust one hand out and writhing chains erupted across her body, hanging from her neck and shoulders, before blasting outward. Wrought iron, burning with a ghostly emerald glow, ensnared the thralls like constricting snakes, locking them in place.

One by one, they collapsed to their knees, eyes wide and distant. Their spells fizzled. Their limbs slackened. Some sobbed. Others screamed.

“God above,” Temperance whispered in horror. “What have you done, Dan…”

“What I had to,” I growled, though I knew exactly how horrible the experience was. And so did Temp. “Now, let’s end this thing.”

With the thralls temporarily subdued, Temp and Croc broke away and made a mad dash toward Nikoli. I was only a few steps behind.

Nikoli, unnaturally fast given the mech’s sheer size, wheeled toward us and launched a volley of whirling saw blades, each etched with glowing symbols. Jakob bounded forward and batted one away with his shield, but the second struck Croc in the shoulder, detonating in a bloom of scorching orange light. The third ricocheted but still channeled a bolt of lighting through Temp before burying itself in the wall.

The electrical charge drained two-thirds of Temp’s health in an instant, but Harper was already casting Field Surgeon to patch her up on the fly.

Jakob surged forward with Bullrush Blitz. I flanked wide and activated Hydro Fracking Blast, while simultaneously sending the Bowling Ball of Rolling Momentum into orbit around me, so it could build up speed.

A beam of water punched into Nikoli’s mech suit—though the bulky armor held. Using Hydrokensis, I sent the spray of water coursing into the mech’s joints, before flash freezing them with a ripple of mana.

Nikoli slowed, but didn’t stop. Not completely.

Croc had recovered from the blast, though the mimic was badly burned and looked more than a little worse for wear. That didn’t stop Croc from charging forward, its hide now coated in a metallic sheen.

Temp had also recovered and was back on her feet now.

She leapt into the air and sprinted forward, activating her new Biblical Pestilence Relic. Enormous locust, each the size of my palm, enveloped the suit, and though they couldn’t find a way to burrow through the metal plating, they thoroughly obscured Nikoli’s line of sight.

It didn’t last long, however.

Nikoli raised a gauntlet into the air and sizzling blue electricity exploded in a dome, frying the scampering whirlwind. Bugs rained down, their carapaces still popping from the AoE attack.

Temp launched herself toward Nikoli with her cleaver drawn, but Nikoli just raised a finger and hastily scrawled a sigil into the air.

“It’s a statis trap!” Harper screamed, but too late.

A glowing rune materialized beneath Temp, expanding in a five-foot bubble that froze her in time. She hovered mid-lunge, mid-scream, suspended in the air like a bug in amber.

Croc had finally managed to get close and lashed out with a tentacle as thick as my arm, but the second it smacked against the steel plating, an arc of electricity surged out along the slick, fleshy limb. Croc convulsed, then slumped to the floor, alive but temporarily unconscious. I winced in sympathy. Croc’s metal body was great for tanking physical blows, but clearly not so great against a bolt of honest to God lightning.

With Temp and Croc both momentarily out of commission—and Harper occupied with the thralls—it was down to me and Jakob.

The Cendral activated Broken Car Alarm, the sound cutting through the forge like a tornado warning, and Nikoli turned on him like an angry bull. He leveled his arm and his gauntlet exploded forward like a missile, attached to a metallic cable that connected to the mech. The giant metallic hand latched onto Jakob’s shield with a thump and then the tether reversed—pulling Jakob toward Nikoli with implacable, impossible strength. Jakob dug his heels in, but he just wasn’t strong enough to stop the sheer force reeling him ever closer.

But it did reveal something interesting.

For the first time, I got a good look at the backside of the mech. Unlike the front, which was cold steel and hardened leather, the back had several cylindrical tanks attached, along with a series of pistons, gears, and snaking tubes that connected to the larger mechanical exoskeleton. I couldn’t punch through the armor itself, but those tubes looked awfully vulnerable.

I saw a chance and I took it.

Even though Neural Slipstream hadn’t worked out so well the last time I’d used it, I activated it anyway. Time slowed as cold power washed through me and my body phased out of sync with reality. I propelled myself forward, effortlessly passing through crafting tables, tools, and debris littering the ground, then phased through Nikoli—still locked in his battle with Jakob.

I emerged behind him and killed the spell, time resuming its normal form as my body became corporeal once again. Nikoli didn’t even seem to notice as a raised a hand, activated Hyrdo Fracking Blast, and neatly sliced through one of the tubes. I pressed my palm against the exposed hole in the tube and activated Hydro Fracking Blast, though this time I used Hydrokensis to slow the flow of water—not to a trickle, but not so fast that it could sandblast a hole in Mount Rushmore either.

I felt the water course in and begin the fill the suit.

Nikoli still hadn’t noticed. Which was great, because I was currently waterboarding his power armor from the inside out.

The first warning sign came when his mech started hissing—not steam, not hydraulics—just a slow, ominous glub glub as water crept into places water was absolutely not supposed to be. A faint gurgling sound echoed from inside the mech suit.

Nikoli turned his head, or at least, I think he did—it was hard to tell with the locust guts still smeared across his faceplate—and let out a garbled roar over the loudspeaker.

“Stop that! You cannot do that!”

“This is the 49th floor, dickweed,” I said, “might makes right, isn’t that the way it goes?”

Nikoli roared and spun around, an arm blade extending with a pneumatic thump, but it was too late. The temporal statis trap holding Temp in place finally lapsed and she hit the ground in a three-point superhero landing, already channeling Puritanical Chains. Massive spectral links erupted from the ground like divine tentacles of judgement, slamming into Nikoli and wrapping around the mech’s arms, legs, and torso with punishing finality.

Nikoli twitched. Bucked. Raged.

But it didn’t matter. He was trapped.

I pressed my palm against the sliced length of tubing and resumed the process, pumping more and more water inside with each passing second. Water squirted from the seams and joints, so I quickly flash froze the leaks, plugging the holes. Not exactly OSHA-approved plumbing, but it’d hold. The hiss became a slosh. The slosh became a gurgle. Inside the suit, Nikoli was gasping for air as I rapidly transformed his mech into a fish tank.

“You did this to yourself,” I growled. “I tried to give you a way out, but you were too dumb to listen.”

Jakob backed away, jaw slack. Harper stood frozen, watching the unholy baptism with something between awe and revulsion.

Croc sat up with a wheeze, trails of steam still rising from its body.

“Did we win?” the mimic croaked.

“Working on it,” I said, sending a final burst of water into the suit, then sealing the hydraulic tube with a layer of frost.

Nikoli screamed again—but this one was garbled. Choked. Bubbling.

And then… silence.

A moment later, the mech shuddered once, twice, then slumped forward before toppling over in a clang of steel on stone. One last fart of arcane energy puffed out of the back like a defeated sigh. I gained 12,000 Experience for killing him, which pushed me up another level and earned me a new Researcher Achievement in the process.

[Level Up! x 1]

Research Achievement Unlocked!

Waterboarding 3.0

Congratulations! You drowned a man.

Not in a river. Or a bathtub. Or even a shallow wooden bucket. No, somehow you drowned him in his own apocalypse-class mech suit, using nothing but high-pressure spellcasting and deeply inappropriate creativity.

This wasn’t just a kill. This was a slow, bubbling lesson in hubris.

You saw a hydraulic weak point, filled the armor like a demonic water balloon, sealed it shut with artisanal combat ice, and let physics do the rest. The enemy didn’t get blown up. He got moisturized to death. Honestly, I don’t know whether to applaud you or commit you, so you can get the psychiatric treatment you so obviously need.

Reward: 9,500 Experience Points, 10 Copper Delver Loot Tokens, 1 Ruby Elementalist Loot Token

Title Unlocked: Waterboarding 3.0 – Armored enemies take an additional 25% damage from all water-based attacks.

I dismissed the notice and wiped the sweat from my brow, my hand trembling a little from the motion.

“Holy shit, that was intense,” I said, my voice shaky. “Everyone okay?”

Harper looked at the mech with wide eyes. “Us? You just drowned a man in his own armor, are you okay?”

I stared at the armored tomb. “I’ve done worse,” I said after a moment. And it was true.

I still had nightmares about Natasha Anno, the first Delver I’d ever killed. The first person I’d ever killed. At night I saw her pinned beneath me as I drove my hammer into the side of her head, over and over again, blood splattering across my face. This was nothing compared to that. And for some reason, I doubted Nikoli would be joining the nightmare roster. Maybe I should’ve felt some sense of guilt, but I didn’t.

If anyone had deserved a fate like this, it was him.

 Apparently, the look on my face said something different, though, because Croc came over and sat beside me, nuzzling its head into my leg. “It’s okay if you’re not okay, Dan. And if you ever need to talk, I’m always here for you. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” I said, ruffling the mimic’s head. “But I’m fine. And hopefully all these people will be too.” I turned away from the dead monster, who only looked human on the surface, and to the thralls curled up on the floor. Harper’s Chains of Christmas Past spell had lapsed, but none of them had gotten to their feet. The horror I saw in their eyes made me feel far worse than killing Nikoli.

They were innocent, and I’d forced them to relive their most horrifying moments.

If I could reunite them with their families, hopefully it would be worth it.

“Come on,” I said, “let’s do what we can for them.”

With Nikoli dead, the magic powering the collars had dissipated, though they were still clamped firmly in place. It didn’t take long to find the release mechanism and even less time for Harper to circulate through the group, casting a round of heals to patch them up from the battle with Temp.

Soon there was a group of badly emaciated survivors huddled in the corner, staring at us with glassy eyes. They looked broken, terrified, and utterly defeated. All except one man, who was probably in his late forties or early fifties—though the abuse he’d suffered made him appear much older.

Like the others, he was skeletally thin, his skin an ashen gray. He was missing several fingers on his left hand, one on his right, and both ears. Despite that, though, there was a burning fire of defiance in his eyes. I could tell he was a fighter, even at a glance.

“What do you aim to do with us?” the man growled, standing tall, one hand clenched into a white-knuckled fist. “Because it you intend to put us back in chains, you’d better just kill me now.”

I approached slowly and raised my hands in a show of peace.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “We’re not with that sick fuck, Nikoli. There’s a reason he’s dead. Our only goal is to get you home safe. Whatever you do from there is up to you. I know it might be hard to believe, but your free now.”

“Free.” He said the word slowly as though tasting it on his tongue for the first time. “You mean to tell me we can walk out that cursed door?” the man asked, waving toward the forge’s exit. “Leave right this moment and you won’t stop us?”

“If you want,” I replied with a shrug. “Though you’ll freeze to death long before you ever make it back to Kringlegard. But if you’ll trust me—trust us,” I amended, waving to the others. “We can get you there a lot quicker. And make sure you get a hot meal and a warm shower to boot.”

The other survivors muttered to themselves and for the first time I saw a spark of hope in their eyes. But not the man, standing before them. He just looked suspicious. A man who’s trust had burned out a long time ago.

“And how exactly do you intend to do that, then?” he asked

I smiled. “Just watch.” I expanded my minimap and selected the entirety of the forge. All twelve-thousand square feet of it. Although it was near the kiosk, the forge was its own separate structure, which meant it was mine for the taking.

You’ve selected 12,000 square feet of eligible Progenerated Material Resource Space. Would you like to use Corvo’s Blanket Fort to convert the selected material into a Personal Superspace Dwelling? You will have 103,317 available square feet remaining at your current Variant Assimilation Level. Proceed Yes/No?

I hit yes and the whole world began to tremble…